


The Only Constant

by Meg13



Series: The Only Constant [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Acceptance, F/M, Family Feels, Heartfelt Moments, I don't care what anyone says, Making Decisions Without Consulting Your SO, Unexpected Surprises, fluffy af, inner turmoil, personal headcannon, walt and javi are bros now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg13/pseuds/Meg13
Summary: ... in life is change and Walter can't do that anymore.





	1. I & II

I

There are many things Walter expects to find upon entering his kitchen – spaghetti spattered on the ceiling, a tower of sippy cups filling the sink, Matchbox cars and Legos littering the linoleum – but Claire rummaging through his refrigerator is not one of them. He pauses in the doorway, lanky green arms crossing as he watches the teenager pop a grape into her mouth and then grab the last juice pouch from the box. She turns, hip-checking the refrigerator closed, and nearly falls backward when she catches sight of Walter leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Cheese and rice, Strickler,” Claire yelps, eyes wide. “You scared me.”

“Barbara didn’t mention you were stopping by.” It’s been a very long, very challenging day and he’s not in the mood for pleasantries. In fact, now that the baby has _finally_ settled in for night, the only thing he _is_ in the mood for is a stiff drink. “What are you doing here?”

Claire stabs the plastic straw into the pouch and takes a sip before answering, “It’s done.”

“ _What_ is done?”

“The potion.” Claire smirks as Walter’s irritation at her unannounced visit turns to unexpected interest. “The last time we talked I told you it needed to steep for seventeen days. Remember?”

“Oh,” Walter says, hands falling to his sides as he straightens. He chuckles and ruffles his wings. “Those seventeen days have certainly _flown_ by.”

Claire snorts. “I guess you have a legitimate claim to terrible ‘dad jokes’ now, huh?”

Walter shrugs. “I’ve always been fond of a good pun.”

“ _Good_ being the key word,” Claire says pointedly and chortles as Walter rolls his eyes. “Anyway.” She reaches into her bag and digs around for a second before pulling out a small glass vial. “Here.”

Walter takes a step forward but stops, a look of consternation on his face. He’s been weighing the pros and cons of taking this potion since Claire had pitched the idea and, though the thought of a positive outcome is unmercifully appealing, there is still a very high possibility that there will be side-effects or that it won’t work at all. Maybe this is a bad idea?  Maybe…

 _No_ , he thinks and plucks the vial from Claire’s outstretched hand. He’s already decided the benefits far outweigh the possible dangers and so he steels himself and downs the liquid with a grimace, hoping for the best as it burns a trail down his throat.

“How do you feel?” Claire asks, peering at him with concerned scrutiny.

“Like I just took a shot of petrol,” Walter wheezes as the heat of the potion settles into the pit of his stomach. He clicks his tongue and tilts his head and hastily leans back against the kitchen counter when his vision swims. “How long until it takes effect?”

“Well,” the word is drawn out and somewhat dubious, “in theory, you should regain your shifting abilities within twenty-four hours.”

“In theory?” Walter isn’t impressed. “What about in practice?”

“You _are_ practice, remember?”

“Ah, yes.” He nods, blinking as the room comes back into focus. “The proverbial guinea pig.”

“Or the _literal_ guinea pig,” Claire says with a pointed look. “I told you, Merlin isn’t the most involved instructor. I did all the research on my own and he only peeks his head into my lab every few days to make sure I haven’t blown myself up.” She sighs. “I _think_ I’ve correctly interpreted Morgana’s journals, but I’ve had to substitute a few of the original ingredients.”

“And why is that?” Walter asks curiously. He’s been tracking Claire’s progress, but he hasn’t had the time to really study the development of the serum in as much depth as he would like. Which is slightly concerning, considering his toes have suddenly gone numb.

“Have _you_ ever seen a unicorn prancing around Jersey?” Claire hisses, earning a surprised look from Walter. “Sorry. I just thought learning magic from Merlin himself would be a little more…” Her hands circle in front of her. “Productive. You know?”

“I can see how his… inattentiveness can frustrate you,” Walter concedes slowly as he rocks back on his heels. “But he has been checking your work?”

“After that first attempt, yeah,” Claire says, sheepishly referring to the time she’d nearly killed Nomura with one of her potions. “Doesn’t really have a choice, does he? There are only two possible test subjects and I almost murdered half of them.”

“There is a lot of trial and error that goes into science _and_ into magic.” He frowns, disappointed in Merlin’s lackluster teaching techniques. Claire is a bright, curious girl with a thirst for knowledge Walter hasn’t encountered in centuries and it’s disconcerting to see her so discouraged by one of history’s greatest magicians. “It’s difficult enough with a dedicated tutor but attempting to learn magic without proper direction can be discouraging and downright dangerous. You’re doing just fine.” His stomach groans and he purses his lips in a moment of contemplation before adding, “Unless I’m found dead within the next day or so.”

“I hope not,” Claire laughs, oblivious to his discomfort. “Barbara’s _fierce_ and I don’t need her coming after me.”

Walter’s lips curl upward into an affectionate smile. “Yes, she’s something else.”

“Have you told her?” Claire asks after a brief hesitation. She knows it’s not really her business, but she sincerely hopes Strickler has at least mentioned his intentions to his partner. Barbara is sweet and supportive and forgiving, but she _is_ fiercely protective of her family and doesn’t appreciate secrets involving them. “About any of this?”

“I didn’t…” He suddenly won’t meet her gaze. “I didn’t want to needlessly worry her. She has enough on her plate, especially now that Walker is, well, walking.” He looks up, eyes wide. “If this works, please don’t tell her we used his blood. It’s bad enough I kept it from her, but she’ll be none too happy to find out I drank our son’s blood like a damned vampire.”

“We used a couple drops,” Claire says, grinning at how utterly terrified the big, bad troll sounds at the thought of his human’s wrath. “And she’s the one who drew the blood in the first place.”

“Yes, for medical reasons. To make sure he wasn’t carrying some trace of the bubonic plague or some other mutation from his time spent in the Darklands.” Walter coughs and pulls at the collar of his sweater. “I don’t think she’d approve of our ferreting away a vial for use in a potion.”

“Probably not.” Claire shrugs. “How’s he doing, anyway? Dad said he’s really starting to interact with Enrique now. Like, actually playing together and gibber-gabbering?”

“They’re cheeky little bastards, both of…“ Walter trails off, grimacing, when his stomach suddenly lurches. He swallows thickly, choking back the bile simmering in the back of his throat, and turns away from Claire to lean forward against the granite counter, his head cradled in his clawed hands. Something is wrong. His chest constricts painfully, and he realizes something is _very_ wrong.

“Strickler? Are you okay?”

“M’ fine,” Walter slurs as the nausea intensifies and the numbness in his toes shoots into his calves, then his thighs. Claire is by his side now, eyes wide and panicked as she bombards him with questions he can’t quite hear over the buzzing in his ears. He tilts his head toward her, trying desperately to focus on her face as black spots begin clouding his vision. But the numbness has travelled all the way to his chest now and he can barely breathe, and his vision is nothing more than a prick of light in the center of an inky void.

And then his knees buckle and his elbows slip out from under his chin, causing his temple to smash against the countertop with a sickening crack.  

He loses consciousness amidst a flash of green light.

II

He finally comes to a few hours later. There’s a dull, aching throb along the right side of his face and the distinct, sour scent of vomit continues to burn his nostrils, but he’s alive and that’s really all that matters. Right?

 “…understand, but there’s been an emergency at home and I won’t be able to cover tomorrow.” There’s a pause and Walter chances a peek at Barbara through his eyelashes. She’s pacing in front of their bedroom door, an annoyed expression on her face as she finally barks into the phone, “Well that’s not my problem. Deal with it yourself.”

She pulls the phone away from her ear and shoots a disgusted look at it before tossing it onto the dresser. With a sigh, she threads her fingers through her hair before turning back to Walter’s still form. “I know you’re awake.”

 _Damn_ , Walter thinks and tilts his head in Barbara’s direction as he reluctantly opens his eyes. Her jaw is set, brow furrowed in what he thinks is an odd mix of furious concern. He tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace.

“How do you feel?” Barbara asks as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Pretty terrible,” Walter admits, his throat as rough as sandpaper. “What happened?”

“You took an experimental potion made by a _teenager_ ,” Barbara says matter-of-factly and shoots him a pointed, exasperated look. “Walt, what were you thinking? You could have died.”

“I…”

“Claire said you’ve been discussing this potion for three months,” she continues when it becomes obvious that Walter won’t. “In all that time, you didn’t think to consult me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Walter finally says, his gaze dropping from her disappointed expression to where her thumb is gently massaging circles against his very human wrist. His eyes widen and his shoulders jerk upward excitedly, but the sudden movement reminds him of the pulsing pressure in his temple and he involuntarily sucks in a pained breath before settling back down.

“It worked,” Barbara supplies softly once he’s comfortable again. “But I want to know why you felt you needed to do this. I love you no matter what you look – “

“I know,” Walter sighs, eyes still closed. “It’s not… It isn’t about you. Well, no, it is. And Walker. But mostly it’s about me.”

“I don’t understand,” she’s frustrated with his answer and rightly so. “We’ve talked about this. About your troll form and how being stuck that way hasn’t really changed anything.”

“But that’s why, right there.”

“What?”

“You just said it,” Walter grumbles. “I’ve been ‘stuck’ in my troll form. It wasn’t a choice I made willingly, Barbara. At this point, I’ve spent more time living in my human guise than in my true form. I’m more comfortable as a human.”

Barbara bites her lip, thoughtfully, before asking, “Do you want to be fully human?”

“Yes.” Walter’s lip curls in confusion. “No. I don’t know.”

“Then what if you’re stuck like _this_?” Barbara asks, eyebrow quirking as she gestures to him with her hand.

“I…” Walter shakes his head. “I think it would be more tolerable than the alternative. Maybe I should try to –“

“Absolutely not,” Barbara snorts. “You can try to change once you’ve had some time to recuperate. Doctor’s orders.”

Despite the lingering pain and confusion, Walter smiles.

Which quickly turns to a guilty grimace when she continues, “I’d still like to know your thought process behind this whole thing.”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

Walter takes a deep breath and his jaw twitches as he searches for the best way to explain himself. “It hasn’t been quite as easy for me to integrate back into society as I’ve led you to believe,” he says slowly, his green eyes glued ashamedly to the cream-colored duvet. “That schoolboard meeting I mentioned? The one to determine my eligibility to teach again?”

Barbara nods, wary.

“Most of the board and the parents weren’t comfortable with a troll in the classroom. It took four hours and that was _after_ they’d moved for an executive session. It wouldn’t have even gone that far without Ophelia’s intervention.” He shrugs dejectedly and Barbara’s heart aches for him. “Most of the faculty is great, mind you. Very supportive. Lawrence keeps asking me to join his kickball league.”

“Oh, Walt,” Barbara barks out a bitter laugh as her fingers twine with his. She wants to comfort him, to take away all the pain and ridicule but she can’t seem to find the words. Instead, she scoots forward and presses her palm to his cheek.

“But the worst part?” Walter’s eyes drift shut as he nuzzles into her hand. He takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and blinks up at her with a sideways frown. “The worst part is the way people look at _you_ when they see us together. You hear what they say, you know what they think.” 

“I don’t care what other people think or what they say.”

“You keep telling me that, but it _does_ upset you.” Walter sighs. “And what about Walker? Children are vicious, Barbara. You know that. Can you imagine what they’ll say about us? About him?”

“Walker loves you.” Barbara tilts her head and offers a small smile. “I think he prefers you to me, actually.”

“He does,” Walter deadpans and winces dramatically when Barbara responds with a rueful poke to the ribs. “But that won’t make it any less awkward for him in the future. I’ve already taken the life he should have had, I don’t want to give him anything else to resent me for.”

“Then you’re fighting a losing battle,” Barbara says, moving forward to tuck herself snuggly against Walter’s side, her cheek resting on his chest just under his chin. “All kids resent their parents at some point. It’s inevitable.”

“Jim doesn’t resent you.”

“Oh. Yes, he does.” Barbara snorts, curling her left leg over his right. “Babe, I’ve logged more hours in the ER than I have in my own home. But, that doesn’t mean Jim loves me any less. And Walker will love you, too, whether you look human or not.” She pauses before murmuring, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Walt. There’s so much I wish I could go back and change; so many decisions I made that seemed perfectly logical at the time, but I know now were really terrible. And I’m terrified that I’ll do it again. Really, I…” She stops herself. “This time it’ll be different. I have you, I have a _partner_.”

Walter slowly nods. “It’s… Difficult for me to be honest about my emotions and for that, I am deeply sorry. I should have discussed my decision with you before I took action.” He takes a deep breath, soothed by the familiar scent of Barbara’s shampoo. “We’re a team.”

“Yes, we are.”

“And,” he pulls her closer, “I need to remember that.”

“You do, yes.”

“Thank you.” Walter swallows, hard. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but – “

“The feeling is mutual,” Barbara interrupts as her fingertips trail along his bare chest. She _knows_ how he feels already. They’ve discussed this part before and she doesn’t require further explanation. “And I’ll be honest, I did miss squishy you.”

Walter blinks. “Did you just call me squishy?”

“Squishy-er?” Barbara chuckles softly, closing her eyes as she adjusts the location of her cheek on his chest. “You _are_ more comfortable now.”

“Mmhm,” Walter murmurs and twines his fingers with the ones splayed on his stomach. He knows they were making it work before and that they would continue to in the future, but now he feels oddly optimistic about what lays before them. He feels, for the first time in months, _comfortable_ with the changes in his life.


	2. III

III

Walter doesn’t regain his ability to shift.

He doesn’t have unnaturally keen hearing anymore either – or sight or strength or stamina. He is, for all intents and purposes, just an average human in his mid-forties with chronic shoulder pain and declining testosterone levels and a mediocre metabolism. The sudden deterioration of his body is foreign and frustrating, and he’s already managed to throw his back out twice during his short stint as a human.

But it’s worth it.

It’s worth every awkwardly tweaked knee, every choked-down powdered protein shake, every stubbed toe in a dark room. It’s absolutely and unequivocally worth it for moments like this, when the house is at maximum capacity and Walter can escape outside (into the bright, warm sunshine) to sip a margarita with Javier while he tends the grill.

“This is good,” Walter says, delicately smacking his lips and eyeing his drink appreciatively. “Not your usual recipe, though. What did you do different?”

“Jalapeño. Will that hurt your tummy,” Javier smirks as he flips a burger, “old man?”

“Ha ha,” Walter rolls his eyes, though he _is_ seriously considering the all-too-real threat of heartburn, and sets the margarita down on the table beside him. Now that he’s thinking about it, taking a few Tums before supper might be a good idea.

“And I made yours weak,” Javier maniacally throws over his shoulder. “Like your tolerance since becoming human.”

“I do believe your _chorizo_ ,” Walter sneers petulantly, “is burning.”

“Pfft.” Javier waves him off. “Lies. My chorizo is perfect. As always.”

“Are we seriously talking about chorizo?” The backdoor swings open to reveal a disgruntled Ophelia ushering two toddlers outside. “Really, Javi? Again?”

Javier shrugs as his wife kisses his cheek.

“These two are _your_ responsibility now,” Ophelia says with a defeated sigh, pointing at Javier and Walter. “I caught them trying to pull Jim’s cake off the counter three times. And they keep turning off the TV while the older kids are playing video games.”

“But I’m grilling,” Javier protests and Walter laughs at the look of incredulousness on his face as he swings the spatula in Ophelia’s direction. “This is a precise –“

“I’ve got them,” Walter interrupts, sensing the councilwoman’s waning patience. She shoots him a grateful look as Javier mumbles, “Suck-up.”

Walter flashes him a very crude hand gesture as he trots past the now bickering couple to join the would-be cake thieves in the middle of the lawn. Walker squeals when he settles down on the grass and immediately climbs onto his father’s lap while Enrique zooms past with a plastic dump truck in his hands. It’s so oddly domestic, Walter thinks contentedly, after the centuries of scheming and fighting and killing.

Refreshing, really.

“O told me to apologize,” Javier snorts a moment later, shaking his head as he hands Walter his margarita and sits down on the ground beside him. “She said ageism will not be tolerated and that I could be hurting your feelings when I talk about your brittle, decaying body.”

Walter let’s out a bark of laughter. “Ah, yes. I’ve lived through centuries of ridicule and torment, only to have my feelings hurt by your childish insults.”

“They aren’t childish,” Javier grins. “My jokes are truly sophisticated.”

“Truly,” Walter returns dryly and takes a sip of his drink. “And you just wait. You’re not far off forty yourself.”

“Three more years,” Javier says smugly, but then frowns. “How old are you?”

“You mean,” Walter helps Walker off his lap and watches him toddle away, “how old does it say I am on my driver’s license or how _old_ am I?”

“I’ve seen your license.” Javier rolls his eyes. “I want to know how _old_ you are.”

Walter’s brow furrows. “I honestly don’t know. I have no memories prior to the Darklands and there was no way to keep track of the decades spent there.” He snorts bitterly. “Not that you’d want to.”

“You don’t remember your family?” Javier asks tentatively. “Nothing from your childhood?”

“Sometimes I feel like I just popped into existence,” Walter admits and glances sideways at his friend. “I _can_ tell you, however, that I took Walker’s place in the winter of 1047. I don’t know the exact date, but I do remember that it was brutally cold those first few months. One of the worst on record, actually.”

“1047?” Javier’s jaw drops, eyebrows quirking comically. “You’ve spent almost a thousand years as a human?”

“Off and on.” Walter shrugs noncommittally. “There were assignments that required me to maintain my troll form for years at a time, but that was uncommon. My particular talents have always been better suited for human interaction.”

“Talents?”

Manipulation, subterfuge, seduction… but he sure as hell isn’t going to talk to Javier about _that_ particular skill-set and is quite relieved when Barbara calls from the open kitchen window, “Walt, honey, Eli and Steve are taking off for patrols soon, so we’re going to do the cake now. Can you guys bring the kids in?”  

“Ai,” Javier grumbles. “Like these little monsters need _more_ sugar.”

“Agreed,” Walter groans, wincing at the stiffness in his knees as he reluctantly climbs to his feet. He spots Walker on the opposite side of the yard trying to knock over a flower pot and growls. “Walker!”

There’s a bit of a chase and a scuffle, but Walter manages to corral his toddler long enough to scoop him up and carry him inside without too much of a tantrum. He sets Walker down on the floor and blocks the open door with his foot until Javier and Enrique (who is wiggling about in a rather admirable attempt at escape) struggle inside.

Walter snorts at his friend’s disheveled hair and earns an exasperated, defeated whimper in response as the kids rush into the living room.

“We’re doing _shots_ after cake,” Javier huffs, eyeing Walter severely before disappearing through the door himself.

“Shots?”

“The man is clearly delusional,” Walter says, rolling his eyes in amusement as he turns to Barbara. She’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. It’s been a rough week for her – planning this party and trying to maintain her stressful schedule while simultaneously fighting a bug she picked up from the hospital – but she’s handled it beautifully and he tells her so as he kneads her tense shoulders.

“Sorry,” Barbara breathes and, with her arms still crossed, leans forward to press her cheek against his (not stone) solid chest. “I just can’t believe my baby is nineteen. The years have gone by so, _so_ fast.”

He doesn’t respond, but he does drop a kiss into her hair and wrap his arms comfortingly around her middle.

“Ugh. I’m being stupid.” She twists her head up and smiles. “Thank you for being such a huge help with Walker this week. I never could have gotten everything done without you.”

“All part of the job description,” Walter murmurs, still amazed by Barbara’s surprise and appreciation whenever he takes charge of their son without explicit request or instruction. It makes him wonder just how distant James Lake Sr. really was as a husband and father, and further steels his resolve to remain the exact opposite.

“You’re right.” Barbara takes a deep, contented breath and pulls away to light the birthday candles. She turns to him a moment later, the cake balanced precariously in her hands, and waggles her eyebrows. “Ready?”

Walter shakes his head, sniffing reluctantly as they push into the living room. A crowd of teenagers and trolls and toddlers – of friends and _family_ – turn to them as one, and Walter opens his mouth to kick off a classic rendition of “Happy Birthday To You” before falling back to lean against the doorway as Barbara continues through the throng of party-goers.

Minutes later, when the singing has finally finished (the additional stanzas contributed by Steve and Toby added a bit of unexpected and not-entirely-welcome length) he cocks his head, eyebrows quirking questioningly, at the sound of the birthday boy calling his name. Jim gives him an exasperated look and waves at him, gesturing at Toby’s phone over his little brother’s head.

“Family picture, man.”

 _Yes_ , Walter thinks as he eagerly falls in line beside Barbara. He wraps his arm around her waist, earning a cheeky grin as she leans into his side, and then chokes back a laugh while watching a hulking Jim try to control the squirming toddler perched on his lap long enough for a decent photo. _It’s worth it. All of it._


	3. IV & V

IV

Of course, it doesn’t take long for Fate to pitch a perfectly aerodynamic curveball at him.

It happens on a chilly, overcast Friday afternoon. Midterms have finally finished, and Walter has decided to reward himself for a job well done by taking the afternoon off. Barbara _should_ be at home, though her schedule has been rather hectic since Jim’s party and it’s entirely possible she’s been called in yet again. He hopes not, but either way he plans to surprise her with lunch from their favorite bistro.

He’s just stepping into the house when a door slams upstairs, followed almost immediately by the stomach-churning sound of Barbara retching. Frowning, Walter tosses his jacket and keys onto the console table and quickly ascends the stairs before ducking into their bedroom. The curtains are shut and Barbara’s glasses are still sitting on her bedside table, indicating she’d been trying to nap when the urge to vomit had hit.

A choked curse issues from the bathroom and Walter pokes his head inside to find Barbara hunched over the toilet, one hand gripping the porcelain seat while the other attempts to keep her hair out of her face. He quickly goes to squat down beside her, eyebrows drawn together in concern as he gently nudges a few flyaway locks from her forehead. She shoots him a grateful look, but it only lasts a second before she’s heaving once more.

“I thought you were feeling better,” Walter observes softly a minute later when the vomiting has finally stopped. He pulls a hand-towel off the hook by the sink and wets a corner of it before reassuming his position beside Barbara. She sighs, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, and wordlessly shakes her head as she accepts the wet towel. “Have you been checked over?”

She wipes off her mouth and clears her nose, and then pulls her knees to her chest as she leans back against the wall with an exhausted sigh. “Yeah.”

“And?” Walter prompts when she hesitates to offer further explanation. “What’s wrong?”

Barbara’s gaze drops to her bare knees. She’s been anxiously awaiting this moment for weeks – since the party and the sudden realization why she couldn’t shake that stomach bug – but this is absolutely _not_ how she’d pictured this announcement going down. “The technical diagnosis?” She looks up at him through wet lashes with a shy, unsure smile. “Morning sickness.”

Walter sucks in a breath, eyes widening. “But,” he protests weakly, slumping back to rest bonelessly against the side of the bathtub, “that’s not possible.”

“No, we just _assumed_ it wasn’t,” Barbara corrects tentatively. “And you know what they say about that.”

“But…”

“You’re _human_ now, Walt. The complete package.” She shrugs. “I ran you through the gambit after you took that potion, but I didn’t even think to test your fertility.”

His only response is a small, disbelieving squeak from the back of his throat.

“Babe, I’m so sorry.” Barbara frowns, forehead wrinkling in concern over her partner’s sudden pallor. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, obviously. But I’ve been working such odd hours lately and I just couldn’t find the right time.”

“How…” Walter’s voice cracks. He clears his throat and continues, “How long have you known?”

“Since Jim’s party,” Barbara says, grimacing slightly. It’s almost been three weeks since then and she’s a bit apprehensive about how well the extended timeframe will be received. “Aaarrrgghh wouldn’t stop _sniffing_ me.”

“He does have a strong sense of smell,” Walter concedes weakly as his brain continues its struggle to process new information. “A byproduct of his resurrection, I believe.”

“Yeah, well I guess he could smell the hormonal changes,” Barbara says with a snort as she thinks back to the way the gentle behemoth had cornered her to quietly inquire about the baby. “He congratulated me on the whelp and asked when we’d notched chips. Do you know what that last part means? Because I’m still not fluent in troll jargon.”

Walter blinks. “He was, uh, asking when we… Conceived?”

“Ah.” Barbara nods tentatively. “Anyway. I got a positive on three tests at work the next day and Doctor K confirmed.”

Walter opens his mouth and then closes it.

“Listen, I know this is…” Barbara nibbles her bottom lip, her nose wrinkling as she imperceptibly shakes her head. “Unexpected. And huge. But I really need to know you’re okay with it.”

“Are you?” He asks, eyeing her cautiously. She’s definitely anxious – pale and drawn, though Walter wagers that has more to do with lingering nausea than anything else – but the gleam in her eye is hopeful.

“I think so.” She shrugs and her hands slip from her knees to the cool tile at her sides. “But I’m also freaking out. Walt, what if I’m too old to do this?”

“What? Have another child?”

Barbara nods and swallows. “It’s high-risk. And there are so many things that can go wrong. Did you know the probability of genetic disorders skyrockets for children born to mothers over forty? And you weren’t even _human_ six months ago.”

“Darling, our oldest is a _troll_.” Walter grins lopsidedly as his fingertips inch along the tile to connect with hers. “And Walker can talk to goblins. Our family will be perfectly unique either way.”

“Yeah, no. You’re right.”

“And _you’re_ still concerned.”

Barbara glances at him and then away. “Babe, we just… Walker has been so easy, and we’ve been so lucky with him. Think about it. There were no midnight feedings. No formula debates, or worries about tummy-time.”

“You think I’m not up to snuff?” Walter tilts his chin. “That I can’t handle tummy-time?”

“I think you go to bed at eight-thirty.”

“Not on the weekend!”

“Jim had colic,” Barbara informs him with a pointed look. “He cried nonstop for the first three months of his life, and that is _not_ an exaggeration. You don’t know how many times I… Walt, I can’t handle that again. Not now. And not with our schedules.”

“Listen, love,” Walter says and shifts sideways to sit beside Barbara. He snakes an arm around her shoulders and drops a soft kiss into her hair when she leans into him, her cheek coming to a rest against his collarbone. “All of your fears are perfectly valid. But, darling, we can – _will_ – manage.”

“Yeah?”

Walter nods, and tightens his hold around her shoulders. “I’m happy about this.”

“You promise?”

Her voice is suddenly so small, so fragile and it breaks Walter’s heart to think she’s been living alone with this fear for weeks now. He rests his cheek against the crown of her head and vows, “Cross my heart.”

 

V

They don’t move from the floor for a long time, too wrapped up in words of comfort and plans for the future to even check the time. It’s not until Jim calls out to them that they even realize the world outside their bathroom has continued spin on without them.

“Mom? Strickler?”

Walter frowns. “Were you expecting him?”

“No,” Barbara answers slowly, warily, as Jim very rarely shows up unannounced unless something catastrophic has happened and the mere thought of more stress makes her feel nauseas all over again.

“Mom? You here?”

“I’ll head him off,” Walter groans as the sound of Jim’s voice comes closer, and pushes onto his feet before stooping down to help Barbara off the floor. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around her and she sinks into his embrace as he whispers into her hair, “Take your time, dear. I’m sure everything is alright.”

“Thank you, Walt.” She gives him a grateful, but watery smile and catches his hand as he turns to leave. “For… being you. Thanks.”

“Likewise, darling,” he says and gives her fingers one last encouraging squeeze.

She watches him backtrack into the bedroom, her gaze lingering long after he’s disappeared from view as she tries to collect her thoughts. It feels… good to have it all out in the open, to have shared her fears and to feel supported, reassured.

Not at all like the last time.

Letting out a deep breath, Barbara turns to the mirror and begins trying to make herself somewhat presentable for her son. She fixes her hair and wipes at the smudges of leftover mascara under her eyes before heading into the bedroom to pull on a pair of worn jeans from the hamper, and is pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose when she hears Claire’s voice in the living room.

“It works,” the girl says excitedly as Barbara descends quietly down the staircase. “Nomura – who has been surprisingly cooperative throughout the whole process, by the way – can change at will. No side effects, no near-death experiences with this one.”

“Even _Merlin_ was impressed,” Jim boasts proudly, grinning over at his girlfriend as she presents Walter with a small glass vial. He takes it, and the green liquid inside shimmers as he holds it up to the light.

“I think he was shocked,” Claire corrects, though the praise has made her blush. She turns back to Walter. “It starts working immediately. You can take Barbara for a flight tonight if you want.”

Walter’s brow furrows as he studies the vial, even going as far as popping the cork to sniff the contents as Barbara watches silently from the foyer. _He’s done it again_ , she thinks, stunned, her breath catching in her throat loud enough to garner the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Mom.” Jim is off the couch and two steps away from greeting his mother with a bone-crushing hug when he realizes she’s staring unblinkingly at Walter, a look of utter betrayal on her face. “…hey.”

“Barbara!” Walter exclaims, his fingers clamping down around the vial as he scrambles to his feet. “This isn’t… I didn’t know.”

“Mom?” Jim glances tentatively between the wide-eyed adults. “Are you okay?”

“It was a surprise,” Claire says quickly, trying to diffuse whatever situation they’ve just barreled into. “Strickler didn’t know anything about it.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes,” Walter breathes, stumbling slightly in his sudden haste to reach her. “I would never…” He swallows as he lifts his palms to her face. “Not after the last time. I swear.”

“I’m sorry.” Barbara takes a shaking breath and slowly nods her belief in his denial. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s alright, dear.” He gives her a small smile, his thumb working soothing circles along her jaw. “We’ve had an emotional afternoon.”

She snorts and _nearly_ achieves a smile of her own as they turn back to the teens, opposite arms wrapping around each other’s waist in one fluid motion. Once again united.

“This is all my fault,” Claire says anxiously, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I should have talked to you about it first. I didn’t mean to upset –“

“No.” Jim’s voice is low, almost a growl as it cuts through her apology. He stares at the two suspiciously and gives the air a light sniff. “No, there’s something else going on. You’re both… freaked out about something.”

Barbara frowns up at Walter, but his only response to her silent question is a weary shrug. This may be his news too, but he’s not sharing it with anyone until he knows she’s completely comfortable with the idea.

“We’re, um…” Barbara hesitantly turns back to Jim, nibbling on her lower lip nervously as Walter pulls her imperceptibly closer. She takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and lets it all out, “We’re having a baby.”

Claire – sweet, caring Claire – squeals excitedly from where she’s perched on the couch and clasps her hands together, grinning. The teen’s reaction is encouraging and it does manage to boast Barbara’s spirits, but her real concern is for the tall, troubled-looking troll in front of her.

“That’s…” Jim’s face twists into a grimace as he shakes his head. “I think… I need a minute.”

And though Barbara didn’t think she would be getting a round of applause or a whoop of enthusiasm, Jim fleeing into the kitchen certainly hadn’t been an expectation either. She presses her face into Walter’s shoulder and sighs as he curses under his breath in Trollish.

“Barbara?” Claire says softly after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Do you want me to go talk to him?”

“No,” Barbara groans, reluctantly peeling herself away from Walter’s side. “I’ll do it.”

Claire nods, watching the doctor make her way to the kitchen door with a furrowed brow. “Um. For what it’s worth? I’m _super_ happy for you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. That really means a lot,” Barbara says earnestly, turning back to give Claire a thankful smile. Her gaze shifts to Walter for a split-second – just long enough to calm her already frayed nerves – before she pushes forward into the kitchen to find Jim slumped over the table, his face in his hands and a faraway look in his eye. “Jim?”

“I’m sorry, mom.”

Barbara purses her lips and takes a seat across from him. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, frowning down as her hands reach across the table to wrap around his much, _much_ larger ones. “I’m happy for you. Really, I am. But I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Jim, honey, whatever you’re feeling right now isn’t stupid.” Barbara sighs and pats the back of his hands affectionately before sitting back in her chair. “This was… a surprise for all of us. And it’s okay if you need some time to wrap your head around it. But I think it would help you sort through your feelings if you got them off your chest, don’t you?”

“I… Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, so?”

“You just…” Jim glances up, then immediately back down to the table as he tries to put his jumbled thoughts into articulate sentences. “You have this whole new life. And it used to be _us_ , ya know? Just us against the world. But, like…” He sighs, frustrated. “Now there’s Strickler and Walker, and _then_ there’s me. Does that make any sense?”

“I, um…” Barbara nods as pressure begins to build behind her eyes. “Yeah, it does.”

“And another baby is great. I’m so happy you’re finally getting the family you always wanted. Always _deserved_.” Jim sits up and rubs his four-fingered hand over his face. “I just… don’t always feel like I’m a part of it anymore.”

“Why didn’t…” Her breath hitches, but she swallows the urge to cry as she stands and rounds the table. “You could have – _should_ have – told me you felt this way. Jim, honey, I love you. And I’m so sorry that I’ve made you feel like you’ve been left behind, or that you aren’t important to me anymore.”

“Mom…”

Barbara runs her fingers through his shaggy hair, careful not to clip his horns. “No one can replace you. Not Walker, not this baby. You’ll _always_ be my little boy.”

“I feel like…” Jim clears his throat and leans into his mother’s embrace as she wraps an arm around his broad shoulders. “Like everything keeps changing, and sometimes I just wish things were the way they used to be.”

“We can’t go back, honey,” Barbara murmurs. “But we can make more of an effort as we move forward. I’ve already talked to Walt about cutting back hours, and when Walker… Well, when _this_ one is old enough, we can start using the gyre to visit more often.”

“I’d really like that.”

“Me too, sweetie.” She sighs and kisses her son’s forehead. “So, you’re… okay with all this?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Jim nods – he’d always wanted a little brother or sister, after all. And now he’s got a chance for both. “Oh, god,” he laughs suddenly, nudging Barbara with his shoulder. “I hope it’s a girl. I can just imagine Strickler sitting at one of those little princess tables, wearing a tiara and sipping _air_ from a bright pink tea-set.”

Barbara grins at the thought, her eyes becoming watery all over again when she adds Jim and Walker to the mental image. “Like you won’t be right there with him.”

Jim shrugs, but doesn’t dispute his mother’s prediction. “And, hey. If you have two more, we’ll have enough for a Lake/Strickler-kid basketball team. Spoiler alert – I can dunk now.”

“Yeah, no. Walt’s getting fixed.”

There’s an immediate, indignant squawk from the other side of the closed door that sends both Barbara and Jim into a fit of much needed laughter. Because changes in life can’t be stopped – surprises happen, life moves forward – but, in this case, the support and comfort of loved ones will always stay the same.

Yes, Fate has managed to throw them another perfectly aerodynamic curveball – so, what?


End file.
